


a day on the job

by adapawn



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, roach needs a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23168239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adapawn/pseuds/adapawn
Summary: The jobs were always tough, but hell if he knew why he kept coming back to them.-A little snippet into Roach's life on the job.
Kudos: 31





	a day on the job

Under the dead of night, it was almost impossible to spot them, their slow, smooth strides through the water almost imperceptible. One pull of the trigger and you would be dead before you could finish your smoke, the light extinguished in the damp air; and Roach was glad he was one of them. The 141. 

How he'd hate to be on the other side of their muzzles.  


“Roach, take point.”  


The sergeant was already moving, sights trained ahead. His legs moved quietly in the murky river, freezing up to his waist, but his gaze was hardened in his surroundings. A particularly large burst of wind bristled the leaves, but Roach paid no mind, keeping focus on movement out of the ordinary of a tropic jungle.  


_“Shit.”_ A Scottish voice crackled in his radio, and Roach had to look back. It was difficult to tell them apart in the darkness and the black camouflage of their gear, but the large hunkering build of his captain was easily distinguished under the moon. Roach looked forward again, his grip on his rifle a little tighter.  


“Sir?” he asked slowly. The captain’s hesitation made every little noise and movement a possible enemy. His paranoia hammered in his chest, and the sergeant aimed his rifle into the bushes.  


_“Just received new intel. There’s more than expected,”_ Roach felt a churning in his stomach, just like he always did when they got bad news on the field, but he shoved it aside. _“There aren’t enough of us to take them all down, so we’re going to have to improvise.”_  


“Command’s got their heads up their arses.” Ghost’s snark was a welcome addition to the unbearably palpable tension in the air. Roach wanted to laugh, but his instincts were screaming at him to keep his eyes open. The soldiers behind him had moved, and Roach thought he saw their muzzles point ahead of him. He turned to face the lieutenant, to see if he'd noticed anything, but felt a bullet rip through his chest.

* * *

“Oh shit, oh shit!”  


“Cover me! I’m grabbing Roach!”  


He felt a yank at the back of his shirt and the dirt kicked up around his face, but he couldn’t seem to find the energy to turn his head away. His rifle dragged alongside him, loose in his grip, and all he could think about was the cleaning he would have to do once he got back to base. Pops of gunfire echoed around the jungle, but he couldn’t tell where they were coming from, only feeling them whiz past his ears.  


“Roach! Roach!” His eyes focused on the voice, and Ghost’s familiar balaclava was staring back. Roach’s chest heaved as it became harder to breathe. “Need you to stay awake, alright?” Ghost looked back up at someone he couldn’t see. “We need to evac! We can’t take the fire and Roach is out!” In his peripheral, he spotted MacTavish aiming into the bushes.  


_“Alright! Retreat!”_ he boomed.  


“No improv, sir?” Roach drawled. He let a hand feel its way to his chest, but couldn’t find the breath to gasp when he felt the blood soaking through his gloves. Ghost’s mask came back into view, letting out a shaky chuckle. Somehow even through the blood loss, Roach could see the wrinkles under his sunglasses.  


_“There’s our boy.”_

There was a massive pull on his vest and he felt himself hauled to his feet, an extra palm covering his bullet wound. Then it flipped him over the lieutenant’s legs, a numb thudding on his back.  


“Thank fuck, it came out,” There was a shuffling, Ghost’s voice shouting something, and he was turned back to face his mask again. The sudden movements were dizzying, and Roach had to shield his eyes from the moonlight filtering through the jungle foliage. “Visible exit wound! We patch him up, get him out of here!” Roach groaned in protest; he wanted to stay and fight, die here with his brothers if he had to - all noble sentiments, but surely a symptom of the blood loss - but it all came out as a jumbled mess, babbling against the blood flooding his mouth. Ghost cursed and tilted his head forward.  


“Ah shit,” The blood dribbled from the corners of his lips. “Nikolai!”  


_“Da?”_  


“Hurry the _fuck_ up!”  


The thudding of his wounds slowly faded into every other sensation around him; the mud soaking through his pants, the blowing dust swirling like shards into his skin, and the pounding of gunfire in his eardrums.  


“Hang in there, Roach, stay awake!”  


“Fuck’s sake,” he wheezed. The blood made enunciating difficult, so it came out hoarse and weak. His knees buckled through the thickness of the mud, and he was thrown behind a boulder sitting on the edge of the path. Bullets rained overhead, and he could see Ghost on the other side, returning the fire. Roach shut his eyes, trying to block out the deafening noise. Pain, and _frustration_ , crawled into his aching muscles. 

God _damn_ it.

“Why is it always me?” he muttered.

**Author's Note:**

> Why they are in a jungle, I do not know.
> 
> Had a good time writing this tiny lil thingy, please enjoy!


End file.
